


The Large Consequence of a Small Rebellion

by PrincessDarcy_of_Asgard



Category: Girl with a Pearl Earring - All Media Types
Genre: Being Lost, Defiance, Emotional Hurt, F/M, Lost Love, Rebellion, Soul-Searching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-10-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:47:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,041
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrincessDarcy_of_Asgard/pseuds/PrincessDarcy_of_Asgard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Five years after she runs from the house in Papists' Corner, Griet finds that she is not content as others would have her be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Large Consequence of a Small Rebellion

When Griet put away those five extra guilders she fully intended to keep her promise not to use them. Pieter would wonder where the money came from. Or so Griet reasoned. Pearls weren't for a maid nor a butcher's wife and so the earrings had to go but she could keep this small token as a reminder of the time spent with her master. It wasn't something Griet could admit to herself that she needed but need it she did. 

Memories of his studio sustained her. When the drab tones of Griet's home grew stifling she thought of the brilliant colors that had been produced by her own hand. When the tang of blood was too strong she recalled the scent of linseed oil. When Pieter laughed off her request that he scrub the dried blood from his nails, Griet imagined her master's immaculate hands, his thumb brushing across her lips. 

Such longing wasn't healthy. Griet was often melancholy and it didn't escape her husband's notice. Pieter had his suspicions about what ailed her and with that came ideas about how Griet could be relieved, but he would never put these ideas into practice. There were no paintings in the home and though it wasn't explicitly stated Griet knew she wasn't to dawdle around those in the marketplace or purchase paint things of her own. Without beauty and color in her life Griet wasn't complete but as Pieter saw it having her in pieces was better than losing her to Vermeer or another like him. It was a selfish choice but the butcher made his peace with it. 

Pieter didn't know that in their most intimate moments Griet continued to look past him and think about things like the true color of clouds. Had he known he would have hated himself and her as well. 

One day, Pieter lamented the fact that Griet had yet to conceive. His father was I'll and feared he'd die without meeting his grandchildren. Griet told her husband that a woman's womb was beyond the understanding of men and these things couldn't be forced. An argument ensued. Drink made Pieter honest and he said terrible things. He accused her of being unfaithful in mind if not in body. He said she must be barren if they hadn't had a baby in five years of marriage.

Pieter was unaware of how accurate his barbs were and how they stung Griet. Her heart didn't belong to him and though she wasn't truly barren she did drink a tea that prevented pregnancy. 

The next day was a poor one. Pieter was warm with customers but there was only icy silence between he and his wife. At least her mother wasn't around to poke and prod until she ferreted out the cause of the tension. 

Midday came around and claiming a sour stomach Griet left the Meat Hall, setting out not for home but on a personal errand. The five spare guilders were in a pouch tucked securely within her chemise. She was going to break her promise. 

At a book shop Griet found a volume of blank pages no larger than her hand laid flat. The only place she knew to get colors was the apothecary, so there the young woman went and asked for something she once heard her master and van Leeuwenhoek talking about. 

"What does a butcher's wife need with pastels?" The apothecary questioned, his voice a mixture of disapproval and curiosity just as it had been when she bought the clove oil years ago. 

Griet didn't give an answer and he didn't press for one. With the package wrapped up and stowed in her basket his customer departed and the apothecary shook his head. Johannes Vermeer was no longer in her life but that girl was still going to find ways to stir up trouble. 

She began with slow, light strokes. The sticks of pigment were so light in her hand that Griet worried about breaking them. As she grew used to the medium she became sure of herself and the sketch came together. 

The line of his jaw was as she remembered, nose and lips correct as well but Griet felt she hadn't matched the color of her master's hair. There was a pastel similar to brick red but even that was a poor imitation. It was a small problem that made Griet wonder if she was simply being too critical of her own work. Either way it was frustrating and the red pastel was exchanged for a grey one, the color of his stormy eyes. 

Griet was so absorbed in sketching her master's eyes that she failed to notice Pieter enter the room. She also missed the hurt look on his face when it took pulling the book away to get her to notice him. The expression intensified when Pieter realized what was on the page--this Griet saw. 

Guilt. That was what she ought to have felt but there wasn't a trace of it in her. What would Pieter do with the sketch? This was Griet's main concern and she glanced at the book, trying to decide whether to snatch it away. 

"Was it always him? Will it always BE HIM?!" Pieter shouted, tossing Griet's book to the floor. She retrieved it before answering him.

"Yes. You knew that when you married me." 

"Oh but I didn't. I thought by loving you I could earn your love in return."

"I tried to be happy..." There was nothing else Griet could say without worsening her husband's pain. 

"I was never going to be enough for you." It wasn't a question but something Pieter had long buried. 

Again Griet slept apart from her husband. Taking care to stay quiet she woke before the rest of the house. In her basket the young woman placed her pastels and paper, over that went an extra apron and cap.

The hollow stair creaked as Griet lifted the top. Inside was their money box. She could have taken it all, instead Griet counted out fifteen guilders--the remainder of the money earned from selling her pearls. 

The sun had barely begun to peek out over Delft as Griet stepped outside, fleeing again from a life she couldn't bear.


End file.
